Harry Potter and Mysterious Meatloaf
by CrazyBubbles
Summary: Harry unearths a smelly, lumpy, brown, secret conspiracy that may mean the end of Hogwarts School, and the end of his own life! Can Harry cook up a counterplan to save the day? PLEASE REVIEW!
1. Chapter 1: The Ominous Order

Harry followed Ron and Hermione through the great doors of Hogwarts Castle. The group of sixth years made their way eagerly to the Great Hall. Upon entering the hall, it's ceiling currently depicting a serene starry sky, they were greeted with waves of noise, the eager voices of Hogwarts students expressing the excitement and anticipation of the first night of the school year.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to the Gryffindor table, where they were greeted by fellow Griffindors Seamus Finnegan and Parvati Patil.

"Hi," said Harry, sliding into the seat beside Seamus, "Are they almost ready to serve the food? I'm starving."

"Almost," said Seamus, "First they have to sort the first years. Then Dumbledore has to give a little speech. You remember that from previous years, right, Harry? Don't tell me you've forgotten everything over the summer!"

"Oh yeah," Harry said, giggling a little bit with the others while really feeling quite embarrassed for no reason at all.

All of a sudden Dumbledore stood up from his seat at the front table.

"Hello to you all!" he said joyfully, "The moment has come for me to say a few words!"

Harry, Hermione and Ron exchanged curious glances. What about the sorting of the first years?

"I know what you are thinking," said Dumbledore with a slight smile, "And no, we will not be sorting any new students this school year. The sorting hat has died."

Harry felt his jaw drop. Not the sorting hat! The sorting hat had been his secret companion for the past six years at Hogwarts. Every night, Harry stole up to Dumbledore's office, retrieved the hat from its usual position on the high shelf, and snuck out into the corridor. Then, in the protection of enveloping darkness, he would slip the hat onto his chaotic, jet black mat of hair, and he and the hat would begin to talk about the thoughts that were swirling around inside of Harry's head. They would talk for hours into the night. Harry would treasure every moment of their conversation. He never regretted missing all of those hours of sleep, not even when he felt exhausted the following day and fell asleep in potions class, only to be awakened by Draco Malfoy's evil taunts. You will understand, then, the feeling of hopelessness and helplessness that overcame Harry when he heard that the hat had died.

"Harry, what are you so glum about?" asked Hermione.

"Nothing," said Harry, holding back tears.

"Whatever," said Hermione, unable to hide her suspicion.

Dumbledore continued.

"I know you are all very, very miserable to hear of this tragic death," he said, "but I am sure a goblet of pumpkin juice and a slice of dragon egg pie will ease the pain."

The ravenous students shouted their approval.

"Before you are served your delicious meal, however," continued Dumbledore, "I have a brief message to announce." He paused and cleared his throat, then said, "Harry Potter, you are not to report to any of your classes this year. You will be working with the house elves in the kitchens. Thank you, and happy eating everyone!"

The platters surrounding them suddenly filled with food, but no one at the Gryffindor table seemed to notice. Everyone turned to look at Harry. He felt his face turn bright scarlet in humiliation and bewilderment.

"Harry…." began Hermione, laying her hand on his sleeve. Harry pulled away from her, lifted himself up from the table, and walked away across the hall. He felt the curious stares of the other students like knives against his back. He exited the hall and made his way down the dimly lit corridor and up the stairs towards the Gryffindor common room, the frenzied voices of the hall dying away as he ascended the last flight of stairs….


	2. Chapter 2: The Pigheaded Portrait

The fat lady was snoring in her frame when Harry arrived at the passage to the common room. Harry made a soft noise in the back of his throat in the hopes of getting her attention. Slowly, the pudgy portrait lifted her head. Her eyes widened.

"Ah! You!" she said, rather like a professor talking to a mischievous pupil. "I have been ordered not to let you through."

Harry felt his stomach tighten.

"Why not?"

"That's all I know. Dumbledore's orders were that if I saw you, I should send you to the kitchens. You're in trouble!"

"What about my luggage? All my stuff is in there!" Harry exclaimed. He felt like punching the lady's haughty, bloated face.

The fat lady merely smiled smugly, obviously taking pleasure in Harry's frustration. With an air of finality, she folded her arms over her enormous bosom and closed her eyes as if to go to sleep.

"Let me in!" Harry howled belligerently, drawing his wand from his pocket. The fat lady squinted at him with cruel delight.

"Poor, poor, little Harry," she squealed tauntingly, "can't accept that he's lost Dumbledore's favor!"

"I am not little!" snapped Harry, rather weakly. The fat lady merely shook her head, slumping back in her frame.

"Goodnight, Harry."

Harry stood in front of her portrait for a couple seconds, unsure of how to retort. In any case, it probably wouldn't do him any good. He turned away, stomping loudly as he moved down the corridor in the hopes of disturbing the fat lady as she slept. He supposed he should head to the kitchens, but something seemed so inexplicably _wrong_ about this assignment, that he stopped just short of the Great Hall, wondering what to do.

At that moment, Hermione and Ron came running out of a nearby corridor.

"Harry! Harry! " Hermione cried, "Are you okay? We've been looking for you in the common room! Were you not allowed inside?"

Harry bitterly told them what had happened.

"Arrrr, Harry!" groaned Ron. "Come on, Dumbledore can't do this to you! It's just not like him!"

"There has to be a logical explanation…" Hermione reasoned. Harry had been thinking just the same thing. How could Dumbledore do this to him? There had to be an urgent reason for his actions.

"Perhaps you're in danger," offered Ron.

"Why, then, would Harry be sent to the kitchens?" sighed Hermione. "Harry, I think it's best you talk to Dumbledore. He'll be back from the feast soon. You'll be sure to receive an explanation in his office."

"We'll go with you, mate," said Ron, thumping Harry on the back. "Here, wanna pumpkin muffin?" Ron withdrew a crumbly, orange pastry from his pocket.

"Thanks guys," replied Harry, taking a portion of the mess in Ron's hands. He forced a smile as he followed his friends back up the stairs towards the high tower where Dumbledore resided, in his last hopes for a sensible explanation to his mysterious situation….


	3. Chapter 3: The Abominable Albus

Albus Dumbledore loved his job. He loved his thousand galleon purple velvet pointy hat, he loved the lemon drops in the white porcelain cup atop his desk, he loved the portraits of portly, ancient headmasters hung imperially about his office, he loved eating "Mrs. Mubblebubble's Magical Meatloaf" everyday for breakfast, lunch, and tea, he loved winking flirtatiously at Professor McGonagall when he was sure no one was looking…..But if there was one thing that Dumbledore hated about his job, it was dealing with that despicable, brainless, foolishly arrogant hoodlum, the one they called Harry Potter. Aaah, how Dumbledore hated Harry! Sixteen years ago, he had come to the boy's rescue the night of his parents' murder, but this, of course, had only been in the hopes of keeping up appearances for the Ministry. The boy's diaper had reeked of fresh feces, and Dumbledore, imagining the look on McGonagall's face when he delivered a poopy baby to Privet Drive, had quickly (but grudgingly) utilized the upstairs diaper changing table. After five minutes of toil at the changing station, Dumbledore's velvet robes were quite soaked through with the repulsive, brown sludge, so that even the most advanced "clean 'em up!" charm failed to eliminate the mess. Dumbledore had immediately despised the boy's nerve, and, as he had watched Harry plague Hogwarts' halls these past couple years, he realized that this feeling seemed to increase in intensity with each passing day.

Therefore, when the boy knocked imploringly at his office door that night, asking why Dumbledore had placed him in the kitchens for the remainder of the year, the headmaster was deviously quick to answer, "Because it's time you did us all a favor and DISAPPEARED!"

The boy's dumfounded expression wasn't enough to faze Dumbledore.

"Yeah….you heard me! Now get out!"

"But sir…."

"Out!"

To Dumbledore's satisfaction, Harry walked out the door looking pained and befuddled. With a sense of victorious finality, the headmaster leaned back in his polished leather swivel chair and popped a lemon drop into his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4: The Chunky Monkey

Harry ran from Dumbledore's office with the rage of a violent rhinoceros. He could hear Ron and Hermione yelling from behind him, but left them in the dust of his rhinoceros-like gallop.

Dumbledore wanted him to go to the kitchens….well, he _would_ go to the kitchens and devise a demonic plan to claim revenge upon that bumbling fool of a bearded old geezer.

Harry remembered to tickle the pear in the painting outside of the entrance to the kitchens. The pear giggled, but refused to morph into a door handle. Harry swore at it…stupid pear. When it still did not transform as usual, Harry tickled it with the ferocity of a zebra in heat. The pear released a shrieking cackle and quickly warped to form a handle, which Harry groped and pulled with grunt.

The painting swung open to reveal the Hogwarts kitchens. Towers of dirty brass pots and pans sat in towers open the tables while hundreds of house elves milled feverishly about them and tended to the fire in the fireplace at the other end of the room. Harry noticed Dobby attacking a crock pot with a Clorox® toilet wand, Winky smothering a keg of butter beer in the corner, and….

"Madam Hooch! What are you doing here?" exclaimed Harry in flabbergast.

"Eating. Yum," grumbled Madam Hooch.

"You're lying, Madam Hooch!" cried Harry, "You're not eating…you're DANCING!"

In fact, Madam Hooch _was_ dancing. She was doing the _chunky monkey_. But that is beside the point.


End file.
